


Ankh-Morpork, Avenged

by HonorH



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:39:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonorH/pseuds/HonorH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki decides to conquer a lower-tech world. The Disc reacts in its own inimitable fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ankh-Morpork, Avenged

**Author's Note:**

> Pure crack. I have no excuse.

Outside the Rats Chamber was the sound of a city at war. Inside was the sound of civic leadership.

“For the last time, we have nothing to do with the damn things!” roared Mustrum Ridcully, Archchancellor of Unseen University, over the clamor of bickering important people. “We were not, as you put it, ‘mucking about with the Dungeon Dimensions’ or any such nonsense. They just turned up!”

The palace shook. Dust drifted down from the ceiling.

“I believe the question of where they came from is less important, for the moment, than how to be rid of them,” Lord Vetinari said in a tone that suggested he was not making a mere recommendation.

This started a new round of squabbling amongst the gathered civic leaders. The heads of most of the guilds and representatives from Ankh-Morpork’s wealthiest families had, as the crisis unfolded, descended upon the palace. Vetinari thought it was better to have them inside than mucking things up outside.

The doors banged open, and Sergeant Colon of the Watch, covered in dust and sweat, entered and saluted.

“Ah, Sergeant. How goes the battle?” asked the Patrician.

“Think we’re turning it around, sir,” said the sergeant. “We were fighting the demons when some git with horns showed up and started yelling at people to kneel to him.”

“And how did they respond?”

“Threw things at him, o’course. Mostly paving stones and fruit and veg, but someone threw one of Dibbler’s pies at him, too. Took the wind right out of his sails. He started screaming that he was a king, so Old Stoneface borrowed an axe from Sergeant Ringfounder. That was when our friends turned up.”

Vetinari leaned forward. “Yes, what about them?”

The room exploded with commentary again.

“They’ve got a _metal_ golem!”

“Huge, green troll, I didn’t even know they came in that color . . .”

“Assassins! One with a longbow, one with _gonnes_!”

“A _flying_ metal golem!”

“They are _not_ Assassins. I’ve never seen them in my life.”

“The one bloke looks like he came from NoThingFjord.”

“A flying metal _smartarse_ golem!”

“No? They’re just a couple of people looking stylish in black who appear to be very good at killing things, then, Lord Downey?”

“Don’t really think it’s a golem, just some smartarse in enchanted armor. Golems can’t be smartarses, and that’s a fact.”

“Silence.” The single word silenced every voice, and Lord Vetinari turned his attention back to Colon. “As you were no doubt about to say, Sergeant?”

Colon saluted again, nervously. “They seem all right, sir. The one, calls himself Captain Murrica or some such, he’s managed to convince Vimes they’re on our side. Don’t know but that-”

A sudden crash sent everyone diving away from the Hubward wall on sheer instinct. Next moment, a chunk of it blew inward along with the metal golem, which landed on the table and, subsequently, the floor.

“Hi, folks,” it said, disentangling itself from the wreckage of the table. “Minor technical difficulties. Sorry about the wall.”

With that, it hopped up and flew back out the opening it had created in a gust of hot wind.

“I say, are we going to take this sitting down?” demanded Lord Selachii.

“I’ll take it cowering in a corner, if it’s all the same to you,” said Mr. Boggis of the Thieves’ Guild.

From outside came a sudden thunderclap, and then equally sudden silence. After a moment, a ragged cheer arose.

“Perhaps our difficulties have sorted themselves,” said Vetinari.

Two figures picked their way through the debris and into the Rats Chamber. One was instantly recognizable as Captain Carrot of the Watch. The other favored him in stature, build and some kind of ineffable presence, but had blond hair and a ridiculous suit.

“The demons are gone, my lord,” said Carrot. “We forced them to retreat. This is Captain A-murr-i-ca.”

The blond man nodded at the gathered nobs. “I’m sorry about all the destruction. We followed Loki’s army here through a dimensional portal, and-”

“Dimensional portal! Ha! That proves it was your lot, Ridcully,” proclaimed Lord Downey.

The room exploded in the sound of democracy in action again. Lord Vetinari picked up a chunk of masonry and rapped it against the remains of the table. The room quieted. Vetinari nodded at the Captains.

“Loki thought your world would be easy to conquer due to your lower level of technology,” said Captain Amurrica. “It looks like you took him by surprise. You and your people have much to be proud of today.”

More figures appeared in the breach. The metal man and two people in black stepped through, as did Commander Vimes, looking bloodied and annoyed.

“Captain, I’d take it as a kindness if you’d see to it that I never lay eyes on that horned idiot again,” said Vimes.

“I believe we can help you there, Commander,” said the foreign captain. “Once we seal the dimensional breach, Loki shouldn’t be able to come back here.”

Vimes glowered. He was not having a good day. “Good. Get on it.”

The man who looked like he was from NoThingFjord stuck his head in. “Captain, Dr. Banner requests trousers,” he proclaimed as if chipping every word in stone.

“Ah, I’ve got him covered there, Thor,” said the metal man, flipping up his visor to reveal a bearded face. He touched his shoulder, and fabric shot out of it. “New material. Very lightweight, scrunches down to a tenth of its size.” He tossed the bundle to Thor. “Measured to fit, too. Once he’s decent, we can go for sharwarma. Hey, is there a decent shawarma place around here? Bit of a tradition.”

“Try Mundane Meals, in Scandal Alley,” said Captain Carrot.

“Excellent. Let’s leave these folks to clean the mess up and vamoose.” He flipped his visor back down and threw a jaunty salute. “Captain. Commander.”

He flew off, and Captain Amurrica shook hands with Captain Carrot. “It’s been an honor, Captain. Commander, you have a fine body of soldiers.”

“Watchmen, not soldiers,” said Vimes, still glaring. Nonetheless, he shook the captain’s hand.

The visitors withdrew, leaving Vimes and Carrot. “Damage, Commander?” asked Vetinari.

“Sator Square and the surrounding buildings have seen better days, as has Dibbler’s cart,” said Vimes. “All things taken together, it could’ve been worse. We were able to get most of the civilians in the area underground once Constable Dorfl opened the way into the Undertaking diggings. I’m afraid it’ll need a new door, sir.”

“Thank you, Vimes. I’m sure you’re needed outside. Don’t let me detain you.” He looked at the gathered civic leaders. “You’re all no doubt anxious to survey the damage to your interests as well. I’ll schedule meetings with representatives from the Engineers’ Guild and the Construction Workers’ Guild at their leisure. And now, ladies and gentlemen, I’m certain you can find your own way out.” He glanced at the hole in the wall. “One way or another.”

***

The Great A’Tuin swims through space. Where he came from, no one knows. Where he is going, likewise, is unknown. Or, rather, if someone does know, they’re not telling.

On its back is the Discworld, a world and a mirror of worlds. Look closely at it, and you’ll witness a burst of light over the great city of Ankh-Morpork as the group known as the Avengers, a large order of shawarma in hand, leaves for its own dimension. Look even more closely, and you’ll see the denizens of the city, grumbling, begin to clean up after the latest apocalypse while vowing to be on holiday in Quirm for the next one. It’s just that apocalypses are so damned difficult to schedule around.

The turtle swims on.


End file.
